


you can leave your hat on

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Desk Sex, Explicit Sex, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Office Sex, Pining, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles stares at the rest of his drink, sipping quietly and trying not to imagine his friend and coworker— albeit the extremely attractive friend who he definitely does <i>not</i> have a crush on, performing a striptease on stage. “Do you think you’d ever dance again?” Stiles asks, hoping the pounding of his heart isn’t audible, announcing to the world <i>YES I WANT TO SEE YOU SHAKE YOUR THANG ON STAGE YES PLEASE.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	you can leave your hat on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/gifts).



> _This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being shared with or read aloud by the press, or anyone working on said production of_ Teen Wolf, _including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom._
> 
> ~
> 
> For Saucery and her ridiculous prompt [here.](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/post/72827160127/sometimes-i-just-imagine-derek-stripping-to-leave)

"If I have to listen to "Pour Some Sugar On Me" one more time," Stiles grumbles, leaning over the bar to pick up a new round of drinks.

Derek laughs, pouring a line of shots and handing them to Stiles. “I think Peter makes a point to play that song at least once an hour after you made that rant in his office,” he says, eyes twinkling.

"Whatever," Stiles says, looking from the stage where the male dancers are shimmying to the beat. After working for _The Alpha Lair_ for six months, all the routines and dancers are now boring and uninspired to him.  “It’s just that all these songs are overused it just seems cliche and ridiculous. I would love to see someone choreograph something slow and sexy to something like, I don’t know, ‘Leave Your Hat On.’”

Derek simply raises his eyebrow and Stiles leans over the bar, popping a maraschino cherry into his mouth and sucking it sloppily, twisting the stem in his mouth.

"Hey, I need those," Derek says, pulling the container away from Stiles.

Stiles sticks out his tongue to show a tied stem and spits it at Derek, smirking at him.

Derek rolls his eyes and makes a shooing motion with his hands. Stiles grabs the finished tray and spins around, heading for his table.

After the night winds down, Stiles finds himself idling by the bar, Derek fixing him an after-hours drink while Stiles counts his meager tips.

"Oh my god, these are so pitiful," Stiles groans. "At this rate I’ll still be paying off student loans in my grave."

Derek pushes a tall glass at him, coffee colored, topped with whipped cream and three maraschino cherries. Stiles digs in happily. “Derek, you always know exactly what I want,” Stiles says around the cherries in his mouth.

"If you want more tips, maybe you should ask Peter to train you as a dancer," Derek suggests. "I paid off a few loans that way."

Stiles freezes, his jaw dropping. “Wait—you—”

Derek gently pushes a finger underneath Stiles’ jaw and closes it. “When Peter and I first opened the bar, we were short on dancers, so I headlined for awhile.”

Stiles stares at the rest of his drink, sipping quietly and trying not to imagine his friend and coworker— albeit the extremely attractive friend who he definitely does  _not_ have a crush on, performing a striptease on stage. “Do you think you’d ever dance again?” Stiles asks, hoping the pounding of his heart isn’t audible, announcing to the world _YES I WANT TO SEE YOU SHAKE YOUR THANG ON STAGE YES PLEASE._

Derek shrugs. “Maybe if I wanted to impress someone,” he says, taking Stiles’ empty glass and then cleaning it. “You should come over, I can show you a few moves,” he says, his green eyes sparkling.

"I—er— I gotta catch up on sleep, and I have to study for midterms," Stiles spits out, backing away. "I’ll see you Wednesday!" he calls nervously, and practically runs out the front door.

Derek must know about his little crush, how could he not know, he must be just indulging Stiles’ affections and was probably just trying to let him down easy. What with all the late-night hang outs and the time Derek punched the guy who tried to grab Stiles’ ass, that must be Derek just being protective of him. Derek obviously saw Stiles as a little brother-type, and was obviously setting up Stiles for a let-you-down-easy talk.

Stiles is totally prepared when he comes into work Wednesday night to lay off the lingering chats at Derek’s bar when he realizes that Derek isn’t working at his usual bar. Derek isn’t working at the VIP bar either. Stiles’ heart plummets, but he goes about work anyways, fetching drinks orders and darting around the tables and booths like nothing is wrong. Derek must think Stiles doesn’t want to be friends anymore and changed all his work shifts.

Normally Stiles tunes out the jangly pop-rock music as he works and ignores the dancers, but then his ears pick up a [surprising familiar tune](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyQ2UFuo7E0) as he picks up a tray of beers.

“ _And now, a special treat for you, a return from a familiar face, for one night only, I give you— **DEREK**!”_

Stiles swivels to the stage, jaw dropping.

Derek saunters onto the stage, wearing a black hat, an overcoat, sleek black blazer and tight jeans _with cowboy boots_ , swinging his hips slowly to the beat as he dances slowly.

Stiles’ throat goes dry and then he notices he’s being pushed gently on the shoulder by the bartender, who is looking pointedly at the drinks. Right. Stiles moves to deliver the drinks, but his eyes are all on Derek.

 _Baby, take off your coat…real slow_  
_Baby, take off your shoes…here, I’ll take your shoes_

Stiles feels like he’s moving underwater as Derek slips the coat off and then _gyrates_ his hips in those tight jeans. Derek flips the hat and catches it smoothly, putting it back on his head to the beat.

 _Baby, take off your dress_  
_Yes, yes, yes_

The suit jacket is next, Derek unbuttoning slowly and then lifting it off his shoulder, with a teasing smile, revealing a tight black t-shirt under it.

 _You can leave your hat on_  
_You can leave your hat on_  
_You can leave your hat on_

Stiles somehow manages to deliver all the beers to the table and with some difficulty take orders from another table with his eyes glued to the stage. Stiles takes back everything he said about the dance routines being cheesy and boring. Derek is a moving, sinuous, dedication to everything Stiles has ever dreamed about. Every hip thrust and slight neck tilt goes straight to Stiles’ cock, and if he thought Derek was hot before, he was no way prepared for sheer amount of pure _sex_ that Derek was radiating.

 _Go on over there and turn on the light…no, all the lights_  
_Now come back here and stand on this chair…that’s right_  
_Raise your arms up in to the air…shake ‘em_

A chair is brought into the routine, and Stiles has to bite back a whimper when Derek straddles it and  _thrusts_. The crowd goes wild when Derek stands up with his back to the stage and strips out of the t-shirt, flexing the curve of his broad back. 

 _You give me a reason to live_  
_You give me a reason to live_  
_You give me a reason to live_

Derek rips off his jeans in a sleek motion, and if ever Stiles has mocked any of the dancers for having velcro-ed pants now, he takes it all back. Oh God, he takes it all back. Stiles grabs two pitchers of beer for the next table, trying to wish his own hard-on away but it’s no use, not with a persistent Derek Hale wearing only black briefs and cowboy boots dancing on stage.

 _Suspicious minds are talking_  
_Trying to tear us apart_  
_They say that my love is wrong_  
_They don’t know what love is_

Stiles’ table brings him perilously close to the stage, and he’s only a few feet away from Derek thrusting relentlessly at the air. Stiles tries his best to pour all the beer into the glass, but he can’t help it if his hand wobbles when Derek stares right at him and mouths the words “they don’t know what love is” while running his hands down his bare torso, undulating like a snake.

 _They don’t know what love is_  
_They don’t know what love is_  
_I know what love is_

Derek spins the chair so it’s facing backwards from the stage while he dances with his back turned. He then oh-so-slowly teases the crowd by slipping his briefs down to reveal the curves of his ass, and then Derek flicks the underwear off entirely and throws it off the stage.

They land at Stiles’ feet, who is gaping dazedly now and somehow still pouring beer.

Derek _winks_ at him, and then turns around and straddles the chair again as the last beats of the song play and then the lights change, so that Derek is lit from behind and cast mostly in darkness. All that is visible is the outline of Derek sitting naked with his legs spread, hat perched jauntily at an angle on his head, shadowing his face but not the smirk on it.

Stiles drops the pitcher.

 

* * *

 

Derek waits in his private office-slash-dressing-room, a nervous grin lighting up his face and his heart beating with anticipation. Should he get dressed? Maybe it's a bit too obvious, Derek thinks, so he reaches for his change of clothes. But Stiles would think it would be funny, right? Derek steps back, making his decision and sits naked on his desk, crossing his legs nervously and watching the door. So Stiles will barge in, face flushed and probably clothes dripping from the beer he spilled earlier and will see Derek, sitting there--

Derek pulls the hat off of his head and positions it on his lap. Maybe he should angle it a little. Derek tilts it to the left, then changes his mind and tilts it to the right. If this is going to be a Moment, something he and Stiles will laugh about in the time to come, it should be a memorable moment. Something that will become a private joke, a silly, sexy, thing that they'll joke about how they got together.

The desk is cold on Derek's bare ass, and he shifts a little. Derek checks the clock; he'd timed his performance for the end of the night when Stiles's shift was over. Which should be now.

He waits.

After an hour Derek's fantasies have changed. They started out with him and Stiles laughing at a dinner party with their friends and Derek telling them the silly story of how they flirted extensively for months and Derek got sick of dropping hints and hanging out on not-quite-dates and finally just decided to do a striptease on stage, throwing his clothes at Stiles and then they embraced passionately in Derek's office. There may or not have been a montage of him and Stiles doing stupid things together, like buying groceries and cuddling on a picnic blanket.

Now, Derek feels stupid, and his thoughts replay Stiles standing in shock when Derek threw his briefs at him. Derek took it for shock and arousal before, but what if it wasn't? What if Stiles is mortified and embarrassed to be singled out like that?

Another forty minutes pass and Derek pulls on his clothes, sad and defeated.

Derek returns to work the next night, a little confused and disappointed with himself. He was so sure he had been pretty obvious about making his intentions known to Stiles; yeah, it had been a little cheesy, but after months of working together, Stiles always lingering at his bar to laugh about some silly story from school or stealing his marashino cherries again, Stiles making lewd jokes, Stiles tasting the new cocktails Derek came up with, and their constant post-work hang outs at the 24-hour diner across the street, Stiles stealing curly fries off of Derek's plate, it felt just right to plan the striptease when Stiles said he would _love_ to see someone choreograph a dance to "Leave Your Hat On."

It had felt perfect to Derek, who really wasn't great with his words, and it should have been the perfect way to indicate that he wanted to be _more_ than friends with Stiles.

Instead, Derek felt like an idiot in his office by himself last night.

He wipes down the bar and gets settled into his usual routine, checking the taps and making sure all the glasses are clean. It's not a busy night, and Derek fills up beers and makes drinks for the servers who come to bar.

Derek waits for Stiles, hoping he can pull off the underwear-throwing thing as a joke. 

Stiles never comes by Derek's bar, and Derek's feelings sink even lower when he spots Stiles' lanky frame at the other bar across the club, picking up drinks there.

Stiles is avoiding him. Stiles was so traumatized from the incident that he doesn't even want to interact with Derek.

The night drags on, and Derek fills drinks, missing Stiles' idle chatter and bright smile. He hadn't realized how much time Stiles actually spent at the bar until he's not there at all.

Derek's marachino cherry jar is full. The jar has never been full since Stiles started working here.

He catches Stiles' eye once, at the end of the night, when Derek is closing up. Derek smiles hesitantly at Stiles, whose face turns a bright red, and he practically _runs away._

 _  
_ The next two weeks Derek doesn't even see Stiles at all. He blithely wonders if Stiles has quit but still sees his name on the payroll.

Maybe he took time off to study for his midterms? Wait no, those already passed.

Derek tries not to dwell on it, but he can't help but miss Stiles. He's topping off a cocktail with a few marashino cherries and watches them drop to the bottom, bouncing slightly in the glass. The new server, Joe, just picks up the drink, nods his thanks and walks away.

The music changes, and Derek quirks his head a little when Beyoncé starts playing over the speakers. He hasn't heard "Crazy In Love" used for a dance before and is a little surprised Peter okayed it. Peter usually likes the songs to be dripping in innuendo. 

Derek isn't expecting Stiles to strut out of the curtains, wearing a tight white t-shirt and little black shorts that hug his ass. Is this a striptease routine? How in the world is Stiles going to pull this off?  


Stiles starts [dancing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdiGBI6yngw) to the quick beat of the song, and Derek soon puts his doubts away because Stiles just _moves_ with a confidence Derek has never seen before. It's not any rippling muscle and ridiculous posturing that most of the other dancers use to display their assets.  


Stiles just melts into the song, and his lean body moves, hips jerking in a furious rhythm. Stiles runs his nimble and long fingers all over his torso, flicking them to his groin and he dances, and there are fleeting, teasing glimpses of his pale torso. Stiles flips his hair, swiveling and jumping, and then _licks_ his finger, running it down his chest.  


Derek's heart pounds and he is incredibly happy he's standing behind the bar because he is definitely sporting an erection right now. Is this what Stiles had been doing the past two weeks? Was he practicing _this?_ This irreverent, sexy dance with so much _personality_ and charm, a sarcastic smirk on Stiles' face as customers cheer him on, faces leering as they reach for the stage, waving money in the air. Stiles dances out of reach, pursing his lips, eyes gleaming, teasing, and Derek is absolutely captivated.

  
_Got me looking so crazy, my baby_  
_I'm not myself lately_  
_I'm foolish, i don't do this_

Stiles drops his knees, body slinking low and then back up, hands drifting around his head and then peels his shirt off, flinging it back. He licks his lips and stares into the audience, and for a moment Derek thinks Stiles is looking at him; but that really can't be possible, not with the lights all lit up on the stage and the rest of the bar cast in darkness. It doesn't stop the heat pooling low in Derek's core at that gaze, though, and Derek shifts, adjusting his stance.

 _I've been playing myself_  
_Baby i don't care_  
_Cuz your love got the best of me_  
_And baby you're making a fool of me_

 _  
_ Stiles dips his thumb into those tight shorts and lowers them slightly, revealing more skin, and he simply continues shimmying to the beat. Stiles then peels himself out of his shirt, dipping and lowering his hips to the ground, swaying rhythmically all the while wearing that ridiculous smirk on his face. Derek shouldn't find it so sexy, but he does.

"Boss? Boss?"

Derek jerks his head away from the stage for a second to see one of their servers, Billy, looking at him curiously. "Four Newcastles, I said?"

"Right," Derek mutters, realizing he's been clenching his fists so hard his nails have left small imprints in his palm. He hadn't even noticed. Derek pours the beers and hands them to Billy hurriedly, his eyes returning to the stage.

 _You got me sprung and i don't care who sees_  
_Cuz baby you got me so crazy_

This is torture. This is unacceptable for Stiles to be moving like that, dancing like that, flicking his long pale fingers down his bare torso, caressing his own hips just so. The crowd is going wild, roaring with appreciation, clients rushing forward with bills in their hands. It's ridiculous, because it's such an atypical striptease but somehow Stiles makes it work. He definitely makes it work.

Stiles turns his back to the audience, revealing the long curve of his back and the wide plane of his shoulders. Is this the body Stiles has been hiding under his baggy work uniform the entire time? Oh god, there are moles running down his back too, and there's one set right in the dimple just above Stiles' pert little ass...

 _Got me lookin so crazy right now_  
_Your love's got me lookin so crazy right now_  
_(your love)_  
_Got me lookin so crazy right now your touch's_  
_Got me lookin so crazy right now_  
_(your touch)_

Stiles dips, and it's obscene, what his ass is doing in those tight shorts. Derek's always had a mild appreciation for Stiles' backside but he's never seen it like this, black fabric snug and tight, bouncing to the music, and then Stiles _spanks_ himself, and Derek can practically hear the smack from where he is, the dirty sound seeming to reverberate across the club, over Derek's bar, and straight to Derek's cock.

Derek adjusts himself again and realizes he's leaking precum straight into his jeans and groans, resisting the urge to jerk off now.

 _Got me hoping you page me right now your kiss's_  
_Got me hoping you save me right now_  
_Lookin so crazy your love's got me lookin_  
_Got me lookin so crazy your love_

Stiles is spinning his hips in tight circles now, skimming his hands across the edges of his shorts, and the crowd gets louder and louder as Stiles teases with short reveals of bare cleft and the top curve of his ass, and then on the final beat of the song rips the shorts off, leaving him in a snug little thong, glimmering a soft muted gold under the stage lights. It leaves very little to the imagination, and Derek has to catch his breath when he spots another smattering of moles running down the right cheek. He's lost for a moment in a fantasy of burying his face into Stiles'--

_Which some fucker is apparently doing, having climbed onto the stage and is pulling on Stiles' thong._

Derek sees red.

He hops over the bar, seething with anger. In a few quick strides Derek reaches the stage, where Stiles is holding onto his thong with one hand and kicking at the man with the other. Derek grabs the guy by the shirt and throws him back. Boyd, smart man, is already two steps ahead of him and is already grabbing the asshole by the shoulders, pushing him roughly towards the door. Hiring that man as a bouncer was one of the best decisions Derek has ever made.

"I demand a refund!" the guy is squealing. "The sign said nude dancing, and I ain't seen--"

Derek punches him solidly in the gut and the man deflates like a balloon. "The dancers have the right to do whatever the fuck they want," Derek says. "Get out. Never come back," he growls.

Derek turns back towards the stage, where Stiles is standing nervously amidst a crowd of well-wishers, who have rushed the edge of the stage, tucking bills into Stiles' thong. None of them are as forward as the man Derek's just thrown out, but Derek can clearly sense Stiles' unease as the clients surround him, whooping and leering, hands starting to wander...

Derek parts the bodies, making for Stiles who looks at him and says, "Oh, god, Derek, I, er," before Derek picks up Stiles and flings him over his shoulder and walks swiftly towards the curtain.

"Show's over, people!" Derek announces. There are a few catcalls and whistles, and Derek swears he hears Billy in the background whoop, "Go get it, boss!"

Stiles is squirming. "Derek, put me down, this is so embarrassing," he says. Derek kicks open his office door and finally drops Stiles, who gives him a strange look as he gets to his feet. "What the fuck, Derek? You didn't have to do that."

Derek grits his teeth. "Yes, I did. They were all over you. _Touching you._ Inappropiately."

Stiles laughs, pulling out bills from his thong, but Derek can tell its of the hollow variety, not the joyful ones he's heard before. "I work in a strip club, okay. Dancers get touched all the time."

"Dancers that _want_ to be touched! You obviously were not happy when they started groping you!" Derek closes his eyes. He just--he just doesn't understand. Why is Stiles a dancer now? Is he going to have to put up with this on a regular basis?

"Well, that first guy was a little too enthusiastic, I swear he was practically trying to rim me onstage," Stiles says, and Derek winces. "But the others were okay, I mean, I can handle it."

Derek stares at Stiles and is starkly aware that Stiles is practically naked his fluorescent lit office, sweat gleaming on his torso, thong tight around his groin. Stiles pulls out a final sweaty bill from the back of his thong and smiles at Derek, counting his tips. _I_ can't handle it, Derek thinks, if he has to watch Stiles get groped by strangers night after night.

"Look, I appreciate you trying to protect my virtue and all, but I really need this. I mean, tonight I made like three hundred in tips alone!" Stiles grins at him a little cheekily, sitting down on Derek's desk.

"You can't dance anymore," Derek says sternly. "You just can't, okay? You're fired."

"What?" Stiles snaps. "It was your idea in the first place!"

"That--ugh, I wasn't being serious about dancing for the club!" Derek frowns. "I just was trying to get you to ask _me_ to teach you dance moves, remember? In private?" Derek feels the tip of his ears go pink. Might as well go through with it. "Look, I got tired of always dropping hints about liking you as more than a friend, so when I made that dance for you and then you _disappeared_ for two weeks, I figured I embarrassed you and you might have quit. I had no idea you were going to train to become a dancer here!"

Stiles stares at him, his mouth dropping into small "o."

Derek sighs, making towards the door. He says quietly, "Look, I'm sorry to waste your time and sorry for embarrassing you onstage. Um, I can go find your clothes if you wait--"

"You made that dance for me?" Stiles says, his voice strangely high.

"Yeah," Derek admits. "You said you liked the song, so I figured it would be really obvious."

"Derek?"

Derek turns around, where Stiles is pulling him forward, and suddenly their lips meet in a kiss. Stiles enthusiastically melts against him, kissing him in quick succession. It's wet and hot and Derek feels a little drunk even though he knows he hasn't had any alcohol tonight.

"Derek," Stiles gasps, "You know how thick I am," he says, in between kisses. "I can't handle subtle hints at all. I didn't even know you were flirting."

"I threw my underwear at you," Derek says, laughing.

"Shut up."

Derek gladly obliges and kisses Stiles back, biting at that perfect pink mouth like he's thought about for so long. Stiles moans, low in his throat, and Derek remembers that Stiles is all bare skin now, flushed pink across his face and down his neck and torso. Derek kisses each mole on Stiles' face, trailing down to his throat, sucking hard at the skin, teasing more noises from Stiles, who is panting and just _perfect_ in Derek's hands.

Derek is achingly hard; from the pent-up arousal of Stiles' dance to the warm feel of Stiles' skin under his fingers now as he strokes Stiles' chest and flicks a nipple.

"Stiles, if you want me to stop--" Derek starts, hands hovering above the waistband of Stiles' thong. Stiles' cock is straining visibly against the fabric.

"Don't you dare," Stiles breathes, and Derek reaches and strokes along Stiles' cock while tonguing Stiles' nipple and then biting it gently with his teeth. "Oh my god, _yes_ , that," Stiles gasps, and Derek hums in satisfaction, twirling the sensitive little nub with his fingers.

Derek leans back and grabs Stiles by the waist, turning him over on the desk. "Derek, what-- ohhhh.." Stiles gasps as Derek lays light kisses along Stiles' spine. He places a light slap on Stiles's ass, and watches as the skin turns a bright pink.

"Drove me crazy, the way you were touching yourself on stage," Derek whispers. He spanks Stiles again, watching those cheeks bounce. It's mezmerizing. It's perfect because now they are right in front of Derek in the privacy-- oh wait, the door is still open, isn't it?

Derek gets up to slam the door closed and watches as Stiles turns a bright red. Derek only grins and then kneels on the floor in front of Stiles, who is practically just _presenting_ himself with his ass in the air, face resting on Derek's desk.

"Stiles, can I--"

"Anything, just, _please,_ " Stiles lets out in such a desperate tone that Derek just growls in response. It's all the invitation he needs to take Stiles apart like he's always wanted to. Derek tears the thong off, and the fabric rips with a satisfying sound and flutters to the floor. Derek spreads Stiles' cheeks apart and breathes a hot breath over Stiles' puckered hole. Stiles twitches in anticipation and then _shakes his hips_ slightly, and Derek just loses it. He dives in with his tongue, teasing Stiles' rim, coaxing him open slowly and wetly while Stiles quivers naked on Derek's desk. The office is filled with the slick wet noises of Derek licking away and Stiles' heated pleas of "Oh, Derek," and "Derek, please," and finally, "Derek, I need your cock, please, _now,"_ but Derek drags it out, stretching him with his hot tongue and then spit-wet fingers. 

Stiles is lying on the desk, legs spread wantonly, eyes lidded, voice broken, begging, "Fuck me, Derek, please," and Derek finally stands up, wiping his chin a little. He pulls open a desk drawer and pulls out a condom and a small tube of lube, while Stiles watches him, eyes glazed over.

Derek kisses Stiles, smirking a little when he sees Stiles stroke himself. "Turn back over, I want to watch you," Derek says, voice hoarse with need.

Stiles flips onto his back, scuttling whatever paperwork Derek had on his desk. Derek pulls him closer, unzipping his jeans and rolling the condom on. He slicks a lubed finger inside Stiles, making him gasp again. "Don't--tease--me-- Derek," Stiles says. "Wanted--you--for--months," he says in between breaths as Derek finds that sensitive bundle of nerves inside him.

"Please," Stiles says, eyes bright.

Derek sighs and settles himself slowly into Stiles. Stiles is incredibly hot and tight on Derek's cock, and Derek knows he won't last long with everything that has happened tonight so far. He thrusts slowly, savoring the delicious sounds Stiles is making, the rapturous expression on Stiles' face, the way Stiles says his name.

" _Derek,"_ Stiles moans when he comes, hot white ropes spurting from his pink cock.

Derek closes his eyes and leans forward, pressing his forehead against Stiles, pressing further inside Stiles, Stiles' arms wrapped around him, Stiles whispering, "Come for me, Derek," and Derek looks up into those amber eyes and he _does,_ just like that. They hold each other like that for a moment, feeling the euphoric wave of orgasm wash over them together, and Stiles kisses Derek gently.

"Wow," Stiles says finally.

"Yeah," Derek agrees. He really doesn't have words right now. He's not sure he could come up with any if he tried. Derek closes his eyes. He feels like he could practically fall asleep right now and just doze contentedly away in Stiles' arms.

"Does this mean I'm still fired?"

Derek snorts.

"I mean, I do have student loans to pay off..."

"You can go back to being a server."

"Come on, admit it, you like my dance moves," Stiles cajoles. Derek kisses him, earning a smirk. "You totally do, you liked it, you want to see it again," Stiles teases.

"Fine. We can have a 'Stiles Night' once a week," Derek concedes. There's a part of him that just wants to give Stiles a ridiculous raise and keep him as a server, but Peter would never go for that. Plus, there was this carefree joy in Stiles' dancing that was really amazing to watch. Stiles whoops joyfully, wrapping his arms tightly around Derek.

"But no more tips in your underwear, okay?" Derek adds. "I'll put a jar out or something."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was rather blown away by the large response when I first posted the first bit on Tumblr and was really intimidated for the longest time to finish it. Thanks for sticking by and I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Also I mightily hope you watched the video link for "Crazy in Love" because DAYUM that boy can move.
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr [here](http://www.bleep0bleep.tumblr.com) and scream with me about Sterek or whatever.


End file.
